


Violation

by catastrophicmeltdown



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-25
Updated: 2011-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-06 09:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/417110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catastrophicmeltdown/pseuds/catastrophicmeltdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>France is groping Spain's bodacious booty. Romano is not pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Violation

**Author's Note:**

> I'm cringing a bit at some of these earlier stories I'm posting, but any feedback is good feedback! This definitely isn't my favourite (too OOC for my tastes), but I might as well post it.

It was _his_.

That beautiful, rounded, so-pert-it-defied-gravity ass was his.

And Francis was touching it.

No – not touching. _Groping_.

His hand was rather full, and Antonio was obviously embarrassed and fearful; he had that special shade of red that meant Romano was about to shell out a serious ass-whooping. But Francis continued groping what belonged to him, apparently oblivious to the suddenly tense atmosphere at the dinner table. Amazing, what a few glasses of champagne could do to the man.

The other nations, however, knew exactly what was about to go down. He could see it in their awkward but eager glances among each other. Well, who was he to deny a good show?

He calmly put down his silverware, making sure to push his pasta safely out of the path of destruction. He then calmly walked over to Francis' chair, stopping behind him just as Spain managed to break free of his grasp and scuttle a safe distance away. He calmly tapped his shoulder, and the other nations continued moving away from the fallout zone.

"Just what did you think you were doing, France?"

Francis turned around, and seemed to pale slightly at seeing Romano standing behind his seat. "Well, mon petit frere, I was just, ah, enjoying the view."

He licked his lips slightly. Romano fumed.

"Is that so? Do you remember _why_ you don't... 'enjoy the view' in the manner you just did?"

France almost looked constipated with his effort to remember, and Romano wondered just how many champagnes the man had already. He hadn't noticed that many...

"Ah! It is because Romano will... oh, how did he say it? Ah yes, 'cut off my hands and shove them down my throat along with that disgusting snail dish I'm so fond of'."

He beamed at Romano and said, "But that's okay, because he isn't here right now, right Veneziano?"

Romano's anger reached new heights, and the poor bystanders were now pressing themselves as much as they could into the far corner of the room.

"I am not Veneziano, stupido! I am Romano! And you were groping Antonio's ass! Why were you touching what is mine?!"

In the corner Antonio blushed a fierce red, and the other nations had the good sense to keep their mouths shut and save the teasing for later; none of them were stupid enough to turn Romano's anger on themselves. They all loved Francis, but not that much.

"Uh, it was too good-looking to _not_ touch?"

The Italian growled, and let loose a right hook straight for his face. Too many times had France touched his fratello, Antonio, himself, and many others. It wouldn't stop him for long, but at least it will rid himself of some frustration and maybe keep France from touching his family again.

Francis swung back, and the fight only got worse from there. Eventually the other nations decided that they _didn't_ want to see France die by Romano's hand, and pulled them apart. Romano was nursing a cut lip and a bruised shoulder, while France was much worse off with several bruises, a cut lip, and a black eye.

Drinking did _not_ help when you got in a fight.

They moved France to a sofa and just left him there to sleep it off, and the others set the table to rights and went back to their meal.

Spain casually cut into his meat, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the low conversations around the table.

"So, what is your prize for defending my honor? The hand of the fair farm-hand?"

"Taci, bastardo."


End file.
